it's true that love can set you free
by katanafleet
Summary: He hasn't picked up the phone on his side yet, and she doesn't either. She reaches for him, tries to touch him through the glass. Oliver copies the motion, and their hands press together. Then they grasp for the phones, and she hears her husband exhale for the first time in five months. "Hey," she manages. Tries to smile. Oliver doesn't manage the smile. "Hi."


Felicity steps into the visitation room, immediately cataloguing the other people in the room. One woman's hand is pressed to the glass, trying to reach the listless man on the other side. An older man glares at his son, the teenager glaring straight back. They're fine, she's safe, they've gone through as many metal detectors as she has—

She forgets the past two weeks when her eyes find Oliver. He sits in the middle of the row, his head down and hands folded on the table. Felicity takes a deep breath and takes the last three steps to stand in front of him. The moment she sits across from him, his head rises and his eyes meet hers.

The breath whooshes out of her when she truly sees his face. Her husband has not been "laying low," as John claimed a few days ago. The skin next to his eye is still angry and bruised, the stitches clearly done by a doctor without much time or care. His beard is longer than she's ever seen it and the rest of his hair is even shorter than when he first came back from the island.

But worst of all are his eyes. The bright blue is dulled by hopelessness, the sparkle diminished by the beatings that mark more than his pretty face.

He hasn't picked up the phone on his side, and she doesn't either. She reaches for him, tries to touch him through the glass. Oliver copies the motion, and their hands press together. Then they grasp for the phones, and she hears her husband exhale for the first time in five months.

"Hey," she manages. Tries to smile.

Oliver doesn't manage the smile. "Hi."

They sit in silence for a moment. Oliver's eyes scan her, just as she had stared at him a moment ago. He takes in the bright pink hair, the gash across her forehead, and the bruises on her knuckles. She feels his gaze on every inch of her face.

Then the Arrow enters his eyes. "What the hell happened?" he growls softly. "You were supposed to be _safe_. They promised me—"

"Turns out not even the FBI can keep every promise," she replies. She's not trying to make it an accusation—right now, anyway; it's what she's been thinking for five months—but he bows his head again. " _Oliver_."

He shakes his head, the hand still resting across from hers trembling. "This isn't what I wanted, Felicity. You and William were supposed to be okay, and I was supposed to be in here for a few weeks at the most. Not _five months_."

Felicity shrugs helplessly. John's told her what Oliver's brain has been doing to him in supermax, and it's not been pretty to hear. But now she's _seeing_ it—and her heart breaks for the thousandth time in the past five months. "You told John you were lying low. Staying out of trouble. _Avoiding conflict_."

Oliver's laugh is biting and harsh. "You knew better."

"Of course," Felicity bites back, shifting to clutch the phone with both hands. "You told the world you were the _Arrow_ before entering a prison full of people who'd love nothing more than to see the Arrow dead. Of course you'd end up in as many fights as on the outside. If not _more_ , Oliver!"

Oliver clutches the phone a little tighter and his muscles clench, his other hand forming a fist on the table. The past few months flash across his face, and she wants nothing more than to hug him.

"William's doing fine," she finally whispers, when Oliver's face manages to calm down again. "He's in summer school for _fun_." Oliver lets out a breathy of a laugh. "I've kept him safe, Oliver. He's not happy all of the time, but he's okay."

"I'm glad," Oliver smiles. It's almost a real smile. "I knew you could do it."

"I shouldn't have had to, Oliver."

"There's so much you've done that you never should have had to do," he retorts. "You've been everything to me, the only thing that keeps me alive. You don't know, you can't _possibly_ know, what all of it means to me."

Felicity tries to smile, fails again, changes the subject. If this were a longer visit, this would probably be where she'd yell at him. Cry. Curse him for leaving her, for leaving his _son_. Sacrificing everything they'd ever wanted just to catch a second-rate mobster. Abandoning them for the good of a city that hated them.

But they only have a few more minutes. And they're precious seconds, after all.

"Watson says they're close to finding him. But the Hunters are coming, and it is _not_ my job to fight them off." She remembers the coffee shop, and her hands clench around the phone. Oliver's face tightens briefly, guessing the story without her having to say a word. "We're going to get you out of here."

Oliver presses his hand against the glass again, his eyes pleading. Then Felicity hears the door behind her open, and she wonders how Oliver knew it was coming. "Visitation is over," a security guard intones. The father throws the phone on the table without another word, stepping to the door, and the woman steps away, sobbing. She presses her hand to Oliver's on the other side of the glass. "Mrs. Queen, it's time to go."

"I love you," Oliver says urgently. "I love you and William _so much_ , Felicity. I'll never stop fighting to get back to you."

"I love you too," she chokes out. The guard is standing right behind her. She stands, mirroring Oliver's movements. "I'll see you soon."

Oliver's smile is sad as he hangs up the phone. There's one tear moving down his cheek, and she turns away before her own tears fall.

Felicity blinks into the bright sun, then strides toward John's civilian car. John waits grimly, his hand on William's shoulder. The boy stares up at her, hopelessness in his eyes, and she pulls him into her arms. He wraps his arms around her tightly and she kisses the top of his head. "We're going to get him out. And we're going to keep fighting."


End file.
